


Nearer Than You Think

by rhetta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Class Differences, Disabled Dean Winchester, High School, M/M, Physical Disability, Poverty, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9503939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetta/pseuds/rhetta
Summary: Dean Winchester is in the Lawrence High marching band. Castiel Milton is in the chamber choir. The boys live on opposite sides of the poverty line in Lawrence, Kansas, and lead drastically different lives.What will happen when their worlds collide?A reworking of my older fic "Sing Like an Angel."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Believers, look up - take courage. The angels are nearer than you think." -Billy Graham

The tiled floor of the hallway was cold, as it always was by early December, but it still surprised Castiel with its efficacy. The chill managed to seep through the thick fabric of his joggers and draped itself across his thighs and backside.

Castiel curled more tightly into himself, pushing away the memories of his father reminding him to wear a coat, because, as he had said, "it's going to be a chilly one today." The interior of both his home and his brother's car were warm, so the truth of his father's words had escaped him, and he had left the house in nothing but his "douche pants," as Gabriel so lovingly called them, and a thin blue hoodie that he decided brought out his eyes rather nicely.

He may have been freezing his rear end off, but at least he looked nice.

The hallway was virtually empty and mostly dark, save for the emergency lights that were always on and the rapidly disappearing sunlight that shone through the glass panes which made up much of the school's roof. Something about saving electricity during the day. They certainly looked nice, but were rather useless at the moment and only served to cast a gloomy appearance about the already dreary setting.

Castiel's thoughts left the chill that was slowly reddening his nose and fingertips and drifted to his purpose for remaining at school after hours. Daily after-school rehearsal for chamber students had long since ended, so the choir room was abandoned and locked. Members of the Lawrence High band, however, were not so fortunate. Sweeping tones, quick and alarming runs, and tinny rhythms came, muffled as they were, from the closed double doors of the band hall and swept over Castiel, bouncing off the walls and contributing to an overall chaotic echo that had no end in sight.

It wasn't until nearly ten minutes of vacant internet-surfing on Castiel's part that one of the band hall's doors squeaked open, allowing a wall of sound to burst forth from the haphazard ensemble inside. Castiel could now pick out individual sounds, like the nearly atonal drone of several brass instruments and the shrill tone of what was unmistakably a woodwind cutting through the overall sound of the group. Castiel pocketed his phone and rose to his feet.

The short figure of Castiel's brother emerged from the chaos shaking with his unmistakable laughter. There was a sheen of sweat on Gabriel's forehead, and in addition to his bag, he had a stout case in one hand and a plastic zipper bag slung over the opposite shoulder. Gabriel looked back to the interior of the room and shouted something unintelligible into it. Castiel was about to speak up to grab his brother's attention when a new voice joined his.

"Oh, get out of here, Gabe. Maybe you should put down the stick and actually practice your _trumpet_ tonight, eh?"

The voice belonged to a person who was now standing in the doorway, facing outwards into the hall and towards Gabriel. The guy--someone Castiel vaguely recognized from the many times he had attended his brother's band events--wore a toothy grin that added wrinkles to his eyes, which were similarly full of mirth. A saxophone attached to some sort of strap around his neck dangled at the guy's stomach, and its lacquered surface glinted even in the dimmed hallway.

"Well, maybe you should put down the glorified kazoo and pick up a real instrument," Gabriel said with a characteristic smirk. The chorus of instruments stopped suddenly and was replaced with a chorus of _'oooh'_ s, into which the saxophonist retreated with an exaggerated snort of indignation.

A lone instrument sounded, then, and the rest of the ensemble followed suit, their sound slightly more muted.

"C'mon, let's go," Gabriel said, his attention now on his little brother. Castiel shouldered his own bag and followed Gabe towards the parking lot.

"That was Dean, Sam's brother," Gabriel filled in as they pushed open the doors and were greeted by an icy blast of wind.

Whether the flush in his brother's cheeks was from the sudden drop in temperature or the mention of his bizarre little crush on a fellow student, Castiel was not certain.

The brothers jogged through the freezing air to Gabriel's car, which, thanks to the "engine start" button that came with the vehicle, was already heating up nicely. The boys shuffled inside after loading up their stuff, and Gabriel sped out of the deserted parking lot and immediately launched into his daily string of after-school drabble.

"Singer was really riding my ass about my salute today." he said, gesturing lamely towards his baton bag. "The old bastard just doesn't appreciate my sense of humor."

Castiel grunted in reply. He knew what a salute was, having witnessed years' worth of drum majors performing their own personalized presentation at dozens of football game halftimes and marching band competitions. He also knew that his brother's own salute most likely had the same flair his brother's flamboyant personality possessed.

Gabriel continued with his babbling, most of which was band-related and went right over Castiel's head, until he pulled into their driveway. Castiel could see that Anna was home already (why she couldn't have given Castiel a ride was beyond him), as was their father. He and Gabriel braced for the cold and sprinted to their front door, where they were met with the warmth of central heating.

* * *

 Back in the band hall, Sam Winchester breathed in and out slowly, closing his eyes and relaxing his fingers. He loved his brother, but sometimes the guy could be really annoying. In this particular case, he stood mere inches from the back of Sam's head. Saxophone in hand, Dean squinted at the music on Sam's stand and attempted to play the complex melody. The fact that several of the notes were beyond the limitations of an ordinary saxophone did not seem to phase him.

Sam's eye twitched. He could feel Dean's warm breath falling across his hair and the back of his neck. Sam slowed the pace of his fingers on the keys, swivelling his wrist just so. If he could just aim well enough...

"Fuck!"

Dean pulled away, clutching his cheek and barely avoiding bashing his own horn against the plastic band chair behind him. He carefully set the instrument down and away from danger and whirled around to face his brother.

"What the hell was that for, man? You could have seriously damaged that joint!"

"Don't worry," Sam said as he inspected his flute for damage and held it up triumphantly. "See? I didn't hurt the horn or your pretty face."

Dean frowned as Sam started packing up his instrument. He took the hint and quickly put his own horn away as well. The brothers tried (and failed) not to make it look like a game of 'who can put his crap away the fastest.'

When Dean was finished (Sam had long since put the flute away, and, hey, saxophones have a lot of parts) the boys slung their backpacks over their shoulders and picked up their cases. Dean rubbed annoyedly at his face and cast glares at his little brother as they both headed outside.

Dean loaded his saxophone carefully into the sleek Impala's trunk as Sam ducked into the passenger seat and carefully placed his flute in his lap. Dean climbed into the driver's side, and strains of Metallica from the city's lone classic rock station filled the car as the boys sped off, the engine's low rumble and a cloud of exhaust trailing close behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subtle exposition? Nah, have a literal entire chapter dedicated to some character backgrounds.

The Winchesters' home was what their mother, Mary, would have called "cozy" had she been around when they had acquired it and moved in. In reality, when one looked at the wooden two-story that leaned on its cracked foundation and had chipping white paint on its exterior to match, the word "ramshackle" came much more readily to mind. John Winchester, Sam and Dean's father, had shelled out $5,000 to make a down payment on the little shack, claiming that it was only temporary residence after the fire that had taken the lives of both their mother and Dean's childhood home.

Fourteen years' time had proven otherwise, however, and a determined Dean had done his best to improve his family's living conditions. While there was no central heating in the house, Dean had used two gas hookups to install space heaters--one on each floor. It could get damned cold in the city during the winter, and there were many small holes in the walls and roof which added up to be quite bothersome, especially when the snow began to fall. Dean patched up all those that he could find and tacked bright blue plastic tarp to various places on the roof to catch those he couldn't.

Every time Dean borrowed his toolbox, John would look away and mumble to himself, usually something about needing to "check out the A/C in Sammy's room," (which, incidentally, Dean had taken care of the previous summer).

Dean had even taken to repairing Sam's instruments. The lacquer's shine on his piccolo and flute was maintained exclusively by Sam. The mechanical side, however, was a different story. As Sam's marching instruments, the two woodwinds had taken quite the beating over the years. Thankfully, when Dean had shown interest in learning how to repair instruments, Bobby outfitted him with a fully stocked toolbox, complete with various screwdrivers, oils, and replacement parts, under the condition that he would become the band's repair technician's apprentice, effective immediately. Dean had accepted without hesitation.

As a result, Dean was now adept at fixing not only flutes and piccolos, but also other woodwinds, brass instruments, and even a few pieces of percussion equipment. Many wealthy students' parents began to offer to pay him for his services, which he accepted after much coaxing from Bobby. In time, Dean became proud of being the breadwinner of the house, especially since John had become a semi-permanent fixture in the living room, distant eyes ever glued to the roaring television.

Sam, ever the perceptive kid, knew that Dean did a lot more work than the average high school senior, and he resented John for the fact in spite of Dean's insistence. This was something he reminded his older brother of when they finally arrived home from school.

"So, just because he lost Mom and he's depressed, it means he gets to neglect his kids? You lost her too, Dean, and you work yourself to the bone supporting his beer habit." The younger teen had developed John's attitude and his mother's sharp tongue.

Dean ignored the sting that came with Sam's mention of their mother in favor of lashing out at the implication that he couldn't handle the work he did.

"I'm fine!" Dean said with a bit more bite than he had intended. "Besides, lots of kids my age have jobs."

"Bullshit" Sam replied, making Dean wonder when the kid had learned to curse. "Most kids your age don't have repetitive motion injuries."

"Sammy," Dean warned. He felt guilty using a tone like that with his kid brother, but it was the only way he could get the kid to leave him alone, and he knew when he'd been beaten in an argument. _Goddamn, the kid's gonna be a hell of a lawyer someday,_ he thought.

Sam's facial expression shifted from anger to quiet indignation as he picked up his instrument case and headed upstairs towards his room. With that, Dean sighed and flopped unceremoniously onto the musty couch. He wondered distantly where John was. _Beer run,_ he said to himself, and laughed mirthlessly. He flipped the TV to a mild station and began to doze, unfinished homework lying useless in the bottom of his bag.

* * *

Upstairs, Sam sat huddled on his bed, covered by a sheet, two blankets, and a comforter, respectively. The chill that had descended upon Lawrence in the late afternoon that day had apparently intensified into the nighttime, but damned if Sam was going to let that get in the way of his GPA. He huffed warm air onto his shaking fingers and wiggled them, noting more range in motion than the last time. A bit more, and he would be able to hold a pencil. Sam wondered briefly if Dean would let him work in his bedroom (which, due to its position, was rarely blasted by cold winds), but decided against bothering him again. The warm breath would have to do.

He carefully guided a pen into his right hand and set to work on a sheet of notebook paper, handwriting shaky but mostly legible. _Only two more pages._

* * *

In the Shurley household, nobody was sleeping.

Actually, calling it the Shurley household was a bit too simple, as only the head of the house was a Shurley. Chuck, the most secluded millionaire in Lawrence, had no spouse or biological children and had grown lonely in a gigantic house. After many years spent alone, he made up for this by adopting the Milton siblings.

Initially, Chuck was only planning on adopting one kid. However, when a five-year-old Castiel Milton listed off his twenty favorite books and took a breath to list twenty more, the man was enamoured. Later, Chuck learned that Castiel had two siblings, neither of whom the kid was willing to part with. Chuck then learned that Castiel's younger sister, Anna, was extremely kind and gentle with others. Castiel's older brother (by a mere ten months, as Chuck would learn was apparently of extreme import) Gabriel was a little trickster who loved to eat candy and make people laugh. Chuck adopted the trio as quickly as possible.

Thus began the long history of the siblings' uncanny ability to get Chuck to do whatever they wanted. When Castiel wanted to help write plot points in his _Supernatural_ book series, he obliged. When Gabriel wanted to take a baking class, he coughed up the fee without question. Even when Anna began dating, she was able to coax Chuck into extending her curfew to a respectable 12 o' clock.

It was a testament to how much Chuck let the Miltons get away with that everyone was awake at midnight. The author himself was holed up in his study as he often was, but the Milton siblings were very much awake.

"It was fine!" Anna shouted. "Quit bothering me about it!"

Castiel briefly glanced up from his phone and noticed the classic smirk on Gabriel's face. He considered intervening, but decided that torture from the elder Milton brother was recompense for neglecting to give Castiel a ride.

"It was fine, huh?" said Gabriel with a wide grin. "Was _he_ fine?"

Anna stormed out of the room, blushing furiously along the way.

"You're lucky she doesn't know about Sam yet," Castiel said, achieving the desired effect as Gabriel, too, flushed up to the tips of his ears.

"It's not my fault Sam's a fox!" Gabriel whined. "And _you're_ lucky you don't have feelings, otherwise I'd be teasing you just as much."

With that, the eldest Milton retired to his room, leaving Castiel alone in the living room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Every single comment makes me smile :)


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